From the moment her wedding was announced, Elina had no say in the preparations.
Her choices vanished into thin air—drowned out by her mother's enthusiasm, ignored by Adrian's quiet dominance, and swept under by the Blackwoods' chilling efficiency. It was as if her life had been handed over like an item on a transaction list. Now, she was just being dressed for delivery.
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The boutique they entered was every inch a cathedral of couture. Glass chandeliers glittered above like stars, mirrors covered the walls in endless reflections, and the air smelled of peonies and polished wood.
Elina stepped in reluctantly, her fingers tightening around the strap of her handbag. She barely had time to absorb the atmosphere before a woman approached in elegant black heels and a crisp beige suit.
"Welcome to Maison Renaud," the woman said with a smooth, well-practiced smile. "My name is Clarisse. Are we shopping for the bride today?"
Adrian's arm brushed lightly against Elina's back as he stepped forward. "She's getting married in two weeks. We want something that turns heads. Something unforgettable."
Clarisse's eyes lit up like it was music to her ears. "Of course. Congratulations. This way, please."
A second assistant appeared with practiced grace, offering them champagne in tall, slender flutes. Isabella accepted hers with a bright smile. Elina shook her head. She didn't want champagne. She wanted to leave.
Clarisse clapped softly. "Let's begin by pulling our signature gowns from the latest collection. Ballgown, mermaid, sheath—any preferences?"
"I think my daughter should try something that shows off her shoulders," Isabella said cheerfully, flipping through a nearby catalogue. "And nothing plain. She's marrying into the Blackwood family, not teaching Sunday school."
Clarisse laughed politely. "Noted."
Adrian's voice cut through the exchange. "Bring out the more... sensuous pieces."
The assistants paused—just briefly. Clarisse nodded. "Right away."
Elina shot him a glare. "You're not even pretending to let me choose?"
He looked down at her, completely unfazed. "If I wanted you to choose, I wouldn't be here. I came because I'm the one making the choice."
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As assistants darted between displays, arms full of fabric and sequins, Elina was guided to a velvet chair. She sat with stiff posture while her mother fluttered between racks, exclaiming at lace and beading like a child in a toy store.
Adrian stood near the front counter with the manager, exchanging quiet words as if this were a business deal.
Elina muttered under her breath, "I'm not sure whether I'm shopping for a wedding dress or being packaged for display."
"No one's forcing you to enjoy it," Adrian said without turning around. "You just have to wear it."
He returned moments later, holding the first gown. "Let's begin."
It was strapless, sleek, with a sculpted bodice and pearl embellishments that shimmered delicately in the boutique lighting. A bold design. Confident.
He held it towards her. "Try this."
She didn't reach for it. "I'd like to pick my own dress."
Adrian just stared. Silent. Unblinking. The kind of silence that pressed down like a stone.
With a resigned breath, she took the hanger and walked towards the changing room.
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Inside the changing room, Elina slid into the gown with the help of one assistant. The silk felt cold against her skin. She avoided the mirror until the last moment—then turned and looked.
The woman staring back at her looked like a stranger. Regal. Perfect. Terribly exposed.
When she stepped out, the room quieted.
Isabella's eyes sparkled. "Oh, Elina! You look breathtaking! Adrian, this one's stunning!"
Elina didn't look at Adrian. She didn't want to.
But she heard the pause in his voice before he answered. "It's nice. But not enough."
Her eyes snapped to him. "What does that mean? I'm not furniture, Adrian."
He stood, unfazed, and walked over to the assistant who now held the second dress.
"This next."
The second gown was a rich emerald green, elegant and intricate, with a high neckline and a back that dipped just enough to hint without shouting.
Elina touched it, and for the first time that day, didn't recoil.
"This one, I don't hate," she murmured.
Inside the changing room, she pulled it over her body slowly, the fabric falling smoothly against her hips. It felt dignified. Strong. Feminine. She actually looked like herself in it—herself, but elevated.
She stepped out.
Isabella gasped. "Now that is stunning."
Even Adrian paused longer this time. His eyes dragged across her slowly—measuring.
"It's a good dress," he said at last. "But it's still not what I want."
Elina took a step back. "Of course it's not. Nothing will ever be enough until I'm wearing nothing but diamonds and shame."
Adrian ignored her. He pointed towards the back of the boutique. "Bring me that one."
Clarisse hesitated for the first time. "Sir, that gown is... quite daring. It was part of our Paris runway debut."
Adrian didn't blink. "That one."
An assistant fetched it carefully from behind the glass. The gown shimmered in soft champagne hues, with sheer silk panels at certain places that revealed just enough skin. The neckline dipped to an almost scandalous depth.
Elina stared at it, her voice tight. "This isn't really a dress… it's more like a second skin."
"You'll try it," Adrian said simply.
Isabella leaned in. "Darling, it's stunning. Just try it on. He's right—you should look unforgettable."
Elina looked between them—her mother's eager smile, Adrian's cold eyes.
"I'm not putting that on."
"You are," Adrian said, and though he didn't raise his voice, the finality in it left no room for air.
And no space for argument.
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Inside the changing room, Elina stood motionless for a long moment, holding the dress in her hands.
The silk was soft. Seductive. It slid over her skin like warm water. But it felt wrong. It clung like it belonged to someone else—someone braver, or maybe someone broken.
The assistant zipped it up in silence. Elina turned towards the mirror.
The woman in the reflection looked untouchable. Untamed. Owned.
She stepped out.
The boutique fell silent.
Adrian stood.
He didn't speak. He walked around her, slowly, like circling prey. Every step echoed. Every glance burned.
Isabella clutched her chest. "Elina, my God… It's like it was made for you."
Elina's hands moved up to shield her exposed chest, a faint tremor in her voice. "This is too much."
Adrian stopped in front of her, his voice quiet. "No. This is just enough."
Her shoulders stiffened. "This isn't how I want to be seen."
"You're not choosing how you'll be seen anymore."
Elina flinched.
"That dress," he continued, "tells the world who you belong to."
Isabella beamed. "He's just trying to make you feel beautiful, sweetheart. Can't you see how lucky you are?"
Elina turned to her mother, the words rising from her throat like acid. "Lucky? I feel stripped. I feel... displayed."
Isabella waved her hand. "You're marrying into the most powerful family in Britain. You should be proud, not embarrassed."
Adrian stepped forward. Close enough to lower his voice until it was meant only for her. "You don't have to like it. You just have to wear it."
His voice wasn't cruel. It was calm. And that was worse.
Elina looked at her reflection again. She didn't recognize herself.
Elina hugged herself tightly, her eyes sinking to the floor.
Adrian spoke, and his voice sealed the deal:
"This one."
Clarisse smiled professionally, already motioning for the assistants to prepare the alterations.
Isabella clapped again, chatting about veils and heels and flower arrangements.
And Elina stood there. Wrapped in silk. Bound by silence.
The dress wasn't just fabric. It was a symbol. Another chain.
A beautiful, glittering noose. And she had no choice but to wear it.
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